The Storeroom
by TheRowlingPierceWriter
Summary: Harry and Hermione fight, then get locked in a storeroom. Doesn't that just whet your appetite? Read on!


"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Hermione stalked away from her companion, Harry. He had his arms crossed and couldn't believe how stubborn she was acting. Hermione was tossing her hair angrily and couldn't stand how narrow-minded _he_ was being. 

They had had one of their first arguments-as friends, anyway. Back in their first year when they had met, they didn't exactly hit it off. Well, this was a new topic. Hogwarts was having it's first ever Valentine's Dance. Harry, having no date, asked Hermione to go with him. Hermione knew that she was his last resort and was enraged. Harry didn't know why she got so upset and was promptly annoyed.

Alone in her own corner of the castle (at least, she had dubbed it her own) Hermione skulked. No one had invited her to the ball, save for Harry. And Harry did it because he needed a date so he could look good, not because he liked her. Which hurt her. A lot. Because, before this incident, she had had feelings for Harry. Feelings that had deepened and grown passionately the past few weeks. _Stop it!_ She thought. _You don't like him anymore! He doesn't-doesn't-he doesn't._ Hermione could not quite bring herself to say it. Harry didn't like-love-her back. All that time she had cared so much for him, and she was nothing to him. She shook her head furiously, as if to block out the thought she knew was true. She furiously blinked her eyes to quench the tears. She was too late, and they brimmed and splashed down her cheeks. She held her knees up to her chin and rocked herself gently, mournfully. 

In an altogether different part of the castle, Harry was sitting dejectedly by himself. He had no one to go to the ball with, and he wasn't surprised. All the girls he knew were taken or had turned him down because they had 'your not my type' or 'I'm not ready for a relationship' syndromes. He wasn't _asking_ for a relationship. He was inquiring about an acquaintance to the dance. Why, why hadn't Hermione agreed? She was his second best friend, was she not? True, he had asked her last, but what did it matter? He asked her. It should all be the same. Ron was going with Lavender Brown, of course, his girlfriend of six months. That just made Harry feel lonelier. He would be the wallflower at the dance, drinking glass after glass of pumpkin juice and smiling as if he was having the time of his life. Which he wouldn't be. Harry considered just not going. The whole dance just didn't seem worth it. All other girls blamed him for Cedric Diggory's death, which, besides making his insides burn with guilt, put them off the Potential Girlfriend list. They were all quite upset that the tall, dark, and handsome Cedric was, well, tall, dark, handsome and now deceased. 

The next morning, Harry and Ron sat next to each other as always, but Hermione chose to sit at the other end of the table. Ron called down a good morning to her and her reply was very stiff. Ron raised an eyebrow at her, than went back to his Frosted Flakes. The house elves, evidently, were getting tired of making all the breakfasts themselves because they had begun buying muggle cereals in large quantity secretly. Hermione was pleased that the elves were waking up and realizing that their work deal was _way_ past unfair. Hermione didn't sit near the pair in any of the classes together, either. She spoke to Ron occasionally but was clearly giving Harry the silent treatment. 

That night, Harry and Ron were hunched over a pile of predications for Professor Trelawny. It was grueling work, requiring much mental stamina. Which, Ron pointed out, neither of them really had. They trudged on anyway. Harry, apparently, was at a breaking point.

"Arrgh!" He burst out, jumping up from the table in frustration. A few Gryffindors nearby turned to give him a strange look before resuming their conversations or schoolwork. "Ron, do you have _any_ idea how to finish this before, um, we graduate?" Ron shrugged. Harry sat back down dejectedly and continued with the Divination workload. Hermione, which no one noted, was humming a tune to herself as she watched Harry's tension grow. A slight smile played on her lips and she wore her all-superior expression-like always. 

The next day, during Potions, Harry and Ron were once again sharing a cauldron. Proffesor Snape kept screeching instructions and scathing insults. That day's concoction was a Remembrance Drought. It was not at all easy and seemed to drain all of Harry's brain matter. He couldn't get the brew to thicken and though he worked feverishly at it for a few minutes, it remained limp and watery. Without thinking (by now he found it almost impossible) he called over to Hermione, who was standing proudly over her own cauldron. It was, to no one's surprise, the most perfect one there. Hermione, frankly, didn't make mistakes in her subjects, end of discussion.

"Hermione! Help me with this!" He called, regretting it instantly. Hermione wouldn't even talk to him, much less direct him on a Remembrance Drought she had managed to make easily and flawlessly once more. Hermione kept her eyes on her drought, as though she still had to finish it. Harry was positive she had heard him; she was plain refusing to start a conversation with him after their fight. _Fine, if that's the way she wants it_, Harry thought. He went back to his cauldron and the potion inside, which was pitiful. From the looks of it, Ron wasn't faring too well with it either. This cheered Harry only the slightest bit. _Misery loves company_, he figured. 

Dinner wasn't much better. Harry kept accidentally talking to Hermione on the left side of him (where she usually sat) and obviously, she wasn't there. The second year that was shot him very odd looks, as whenever he did this, he stopped in mid sentence and than went back to his soup. Ron knew Harry missed Hermione, though he wouldn't admit it. There had to be a way he could get them to be friends again…or at least, conversationalists. Having his two best friends squabble like this gave Ron a headache, though they didn't scream at each other. Something else about it aggravated him, something he couldn't quite pinpoint. 

The next day was Saturday, which was a relief. The O.W.L.s were coming up and the fifth years were staggered under the weight of homework. However, they didn't have much that weekend (probably because the next Saturday was the ball and they wanted to suffocate them under work than) and there was a unanimous agreement to leave it until Sunday night. Well, Hermione not included. She finished hers after dinner on Friday, which was very unnerving for Harry. Dinner-not the fact that she was done before anyone else. That was a fact. She was, had been, and forever would be on top of everything and in front of every_one _when it came to school.

Harry and Hermione were lazing parallel from one another in the Gryffindor Common Room, although neither saw this. They were both caught up in being very angry with the other. Ron concluded that it was virtually hopeless to try and bring them back as friends until they had both calmed down. Harry was lazing, anyway, relaxing, and Hermione was in her own way-reading a thick volume about Animangis 'as a bit of light reading' she had explained to Harry before they had went their own ways. As far away as they could go, being that they spent almost every day together whether they liked it or not. Ron was glaring at the both of them for being so close yet so far on a deserted couch. Harry was absentmindedly considering his options of how to strangle Hermione and Hermione was pondering which would be the best way to throttle Harry. Just as the two were plotting the others' death, an idea struck Ron. He leapt up from the couch and dashed to his dormitory. Harry made no move to follow him, and he was glad. Harry needn't know about his plan…yet.

"So…run this past me one more time, Ron. You want me to go to the storeroom for…what?" Harry looked confusedly at his best friend.

"The Magic Cleaner!" Ron repeated. "Filch'll go ballistic without it! He'll be so mad, Harry, I wonder why Fred and George didn't think of this before. You never know, you know, they could have."

"Why can't you come with me? The door locks when you close it, I'll be trapped!" Harry persisted.

"I told you! I'll be on guard and you will keep the door open with a wedge!" Ron repeated.

"All right…it sounds awfully risky…" Harry pointed out.

"Just GO!" Ron nearly screamed.

Harry hastened toward the storeroom.

"Ron. Why, oh why, do you want me to go to the storeroom?" Hermione said incredulously. 

"To get extra parchment. I need some for my, uh…(he groped for an answer), um, Potions essay!" He finished. "Yea, that's it, my Potions essay!"

"Ron, we haven't got to do a Potions essay! You are such a dunderhead."

"Pleeease go Hermione. Puh-leeeze. I have to have more parchment, be a friend and fetch it for me?" Ron stuck his lower lip out and opened his puppy dog eyes wide, which he knew Hermione couldn't resist, and she went off to the storeroom.

"That's it Harry, now I'm going to be right over here." Ron hissed to Harry, whom was immersed in Filch's storeroom, searching for the cleaner. Ron stood a good ways away, while Harry was oblivious. Hermione came from the other direction and swept into the storeroom absently. Ron seized the chance. He leapt forward and slammed the door shut before either Harry or Hermione could process the fact that they were in the same room together. A small room. Which they were now locked in indefinitely. 

"Potter!" She shrieked. She had never called him by his last name before, a fact, which, although he never really thought about it, shocked him. 

"What?" Harry groused, perturbed.

Hermione immediately leapt toward the door and jiggled the handle, but to no avail. 

"I want out of here!" She wailed, not at all like her cool, calm, collected usual self.

"You think this is my fault? _You're _the one who came waltzing in here and than forgot that the door locks when it closes!"

"I am not! I mean, I did come in here, but I didn't know you were here, otherwise I wouldn't, and someone else closed the door!" Hermione yelled.

"Liar! The only other person in this hall is Ron and he wouldn't do that?"

"Are you sure?"

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Harry yelled back furiously. 

"Nothing!" Hermione screamed.

"Thanks to you I won't have a date to the ball!" Harry was seething.

"Thanks to _me_? As I recall, _you_ chose _me_ as a last resort, what was I supposed to say, 'Oh, sure Harry, I don't mind being the girl you chose to use if all others failed!'" Hermione was beside herself.

"You were supposed to say yes! I asked you, didn't I?" Harry could feel the heat rising in his body. 

"Only after everyone else!"

"It doesn't matter anymore because I hate you!"

"I hate _you_!" Hermione called back.

It was than that Harry grabbed Hermione. They began kissing madly, a kiss that shook both their bodies, that vibrated the floor. They clung to one another as if their life depended on it, as if they would die if they ever broke apart. Lips pressing against lips, bodies wrapped around bodies…a single entity. One person, one soul. Hermione attached herself to Harry, clasping her arms around his neck. Harry's arms moved up and down Hermione's back, caressing it. Time passed, and Harry and Hermione were still groping at one another. Nothing seemed to matter save for the kiss. The kiss was everything, the world revolved around it, and there was nothing else besides the kiss. 

It abruptly ended when Ron opened the door, grinning widely. Harry and Hermione let go of each other after a kiss that seemed to them to last a minute that in truth lasted an hour. Ron led them out of the storeroom. Harry and Hermione said nothing. 

Over the next week Harry and Hermione barely said a word to one another. It was Saturday, at the Valentine's Dance, that emotions were exposed. 

Harry, as he had expected, was standing by himself at the refreshment table. A glass of pumpkin juice, as he had foreseen, was in his hand. A smile was upon his face, a rueful one. Hermione walked up to him, not happy.

"About Saturday night, Potter." Again with the last-name basis. What was up with this chick?

"Yea?" Harry was actually kind of interested in what she had to say.

"Never happened." Hermione asserted.

"Good. Forgotten." Harry nodded.

"Not to be spoken of. The very thought of your lips on mine makes my blood run cold." Hermione told him.

"It was no picnic for me either." Harry shot back.

"Well if that's settled."

"Yes. Done. Over. Non-exsistent. We were desperate, locked in a room we didn't know if we'd ever leave, we decided on our last resort." 

"Funny you should talk about last resorts, Potter."

"Kissing you was mine."

"And mine, Potter. On normal circumstances, I would never touch you."

"It makes my skin crawl to even think about putting any part of my body on yours again."

"The feeling is mutual." Her teeth were gritted, her face set.

"Fine."

"Fine!"

They fell wildly into each other's arms. 


End file.
